


starts to make you sweat

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Killjoys, Corporal Punishment, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-26
Updated: 2010-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	starts to make you sweat

When they're Gerard and Mikey, things are one way.

When they're Gerard and Mikey, they crawl into bed with each other for comfort, nothing else. They kiss away bruises and nightmares, they touch as a reminder that there are still good things left out in the sun and the dust. They tell old jokes and stupid stories, they call each other on their shit, they remember for each other. They're brothers. They've always been brothers.

Party Poison and Kobra Kid are different.

Party Poison is the leader, and his word is law. Kobra Kid wouldn't dream of arguing with him, or teasing him, or kissing him. They're not brothers; they're Killjoys.

And today they were very nearly dead.

They get back to the safehouse and the other guys very sensibly disappear into the back. They never stick around when Party Poison's in a mood. Nobody does if they can help it. This time Kobra doesn't have that option. Party Poison's hand lands on the back of his neck before he even gets the car door open. He's not going anywhere.

"What the fuck was that?"

"I don't know," Kobra mutters, keeping his head bowed under the pressure of Party Poison's hand. "Just a fuckup, I guess."

"A fuckup." He tightens his hand and shakes Kobra back and forth like a kitten. "We don't have time or resources for fuckups."

Kobra doesn't say anything, just grits his teeth and waits, letting Party Poison work it out of his system.

"Fuckups can get all of us killed."

Stating the fucking obvious that much is just a little more than Kobra can take. "I know that."

"If you know it, then why did you do it?"

That isn't fair, and he says so. Party Poison's hand tightens again and he shoves Kobra forward until his forehead hits the dashboard.

"Get out of the car."

Kobra does as he's told, silently cursing himself out for walking right into this. He didn't fuck up on purpose, but he knows better than to argue. Backtalk when Party Poison's in a mood only ever goes one way.

He walks around and braces his hands on the hood of the car. Party Poison snorts as he gets out of his own seat.

"You going to make it easy for me? That's sweet. I hope you don't think it's going to get you out of anything."

"I'd never dream of such a thing," Kobra mutters. He closes his eyes as Party Poison's hands slide around his hips, finding the buckle of his belt and undoing it slowly. He pulls the belt free and snaps it against itself, with a sound that sends a sharp jolt through Kobra's body, a jerk of surprise and anticipation. His body remembers how this goes, too.

"We don't fuck up," Party Poison says, enunciating slowly and carefully. "We _don't_ \--" the doubled belt cracks across Kobra's ass hard, stinging even through his jeans "--fuck _up_."

Kobra sinks his teeth into his lip and waits it out, breathing sharply through his nose at each impact. Party Poison works over his ass and his thighs, then pushes his jacket up and out of the way so he can smack his lower back a few times as well. The t-shirt under his jacket is thin enough that it offers no protection at all, and he knows he's going to have welts later, just high enough that they won't affect his ability to ride his bike, and right in the center where it won't hurt his kidneys. A punishment that doesn't slow them down; Party Poison's a frickin' genius.

Party Poison's hand lands on the back of Kobra's neck again, pushing him forward until his forehead presses against the hot metal. Kobra holds still, fighting his body's desire to shake, and waits it out. No more hits with the belt, he knows. That's done. At this point, Party Poison's going to make his final point.

"Don't fuck up again," Party Poison says, right next to his ear. Kobra would nod, but he's being held down hard enough that he can't move his head without smashing his face. His sunglasses have slid down his nose and are rattling against the hood every time Party Poison shifts his hand and by extension, Kobra's head. He's surrendered, he's repented, he's _done_.

"I won't," he says, his voice rough and muffled.

Party Poison's hand eases away and Kobra can feel him step back. He straightens up as well, moving carefully as he tests the edges of the sting in his ass, thighs, and back. Not too bad. A six.

He turns to face Party Poison and reaches up to pull his bandanna free and wipe the sweat from his face. Party Poison turns away for a moment, dragging his hand through his hair and slipping his mask off, shoving it into his jacket pocket.

When he turns back, he's Gerard. Some of the tension leaves Kobra's shoulders, and he lets himself be Mikey as Gerard moves in close again.

"Are you okay?" Gerard asks softly. Mikey nods, and Gerard's hand cups around his jaw, tilting his face up to look.

"Mikey." Gerard shakes his head and kisses him, again and again. "God, don't scare me like that. Please don't scare me like that again. Please."

"Okay," Mikey whispers, and moves into him in return, catching his mouth and holding him in a kiss that lasts. "I won't, Gee. I won't."  



End file.
